When the Ghost Prince doesn’t answer, I glance at him over my shoulder.
“Did I?”
He chuckles. “You asked me to brush them for you.”
My mouth falls open. “I didnot.”
“You apparently go full princess mode when you’re high, little villain.”
Horror pools in my stomach. “Iasked you to brush my teeth?!”
“I compromised and brought you mouthwash and a cup to spit into.”
I groan and bury my face in the pillow.
“That was before you took it upon yourself to educate me on the many talents and eras of Billy Joel.”
I lift my head and glance over my shoulder. “I didwhat?”
“I made the mistake of making a comment about one person owning this many Billy Joel records, and you?—”
“Oh no,” I groan again, scrunching my face up. “I can get…evangelicalwith Billy.”
It wouldn’t be the first time not-sober me has forced someone to sit in mandated silence and listen to the genius of “Piano Man”, “New York State of Mind”, or “Downeaster Alexa” while I preach the gospel of Joel.
Except usually those victims are myfriends, not super hot masked men I may or may not be completely smitten with.
“Honestly,” he chuckles quietly, “I don’t how I made it this long without listening to ‘She’s Always A Woman’ fifteen times in a row before. It’s a breathtaking experience.”
I wince as I press my face back into the pillow.
Shoot me.
The Ghost Prince shifts behind me.
“I’ll get coffee?—”
I’m grabbing his forearm tightly before I even realize I’m doing it.
“Will you stay?” I ask quietly. “Please?”
He tenses. But then his body sinks against mine.
“Of course,” he murmurs, his arms wrapping around me again.
Heat stains my cheeks.
“So, you really didn’t sleep? At all?”
I feel his head shake. “No.”
I twist to look at him. “Because you weren’t tired, or because you can’t sleep in the mask?”
His chest hitches like he’s chuckling.
“Oh my God, it’s because of the mask, isn’t it?” I groan. “I begged you to stay, and that meant you had to stay up all night sweating in a fucking rubber mask.”
“Technically, it’s carbon fiber, Kevlar weave, and epoxy resin,” he shrugs.